


Hybristophilia

by notmyyacht



Category: Hannibal (TV), Se7en (1995)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Sex, Blood Kink, Chilton gets aroused by everything, Crack Crossover, Crossover Pairings, Hybristophilia, Kitchen Sex, M/M, Scars, Season/Series 03
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-20
Updated: 2016-01-20
Packaged: 2018-05-15 03:11:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5769109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notmyyacht/pseuds/notmyyacht
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chilton has a long history being attracted to serial killers. A history that he would never admit out loud. One killer doesn't need him to say it out loud. He knows.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hybristophilia

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks yunafire on tumblr for inspiring me to write this. I'm actually pretty happy with how it came out. Any grammar errors are on me! Hope people enjoy reading it.

That's it, Chilton decided, if he survives he's installing the most effective home security system money can buy. The one he had gotten after the Gideon incident certainly wasn't doing anything. Twice now serial killers have gotten past it. Maybe he should just hire 'round the clock body guards?

Whatever the possible solution to this problem was, Chilton couldn't focus on it for too long. How could anybody focus when _he_ was kissing their neck? _He_ being known serial killer, alias: John Doe.

Chilton didn't know much about the case at the time the media was sinking its claws into it, only that the police had him and chose to take him to trial instead of take a deal, which resulted in the man practically walking. That damn insanity plea got him locked up in the BSHCI. Chilton had seen a new opportunity then, for a new book. Hannibal the Cannibal was losing his value, but John Doe struck a chord in criminology and philosophy enthusiasts.

The first time Chilton had sat down opposite John, he got chills. He casually crossed one leg over the other, secretly hoping that those chills wouldn't quickly develop into an embarrassing and visible form of excitement. He actually really liked talking with John. He liked to think John liked talking to him, too.

There weren't many meetings between their first and the morning John Doe escaped. Chilton was surprised to get a call from Alana.

"He's out," she said, "he hasn't had many visitors aside from you, so there's a chance he might come after you."

"What is this, Dr. Bloom? A courtesy call? Seems that security isn't up to par since you've taken over," he sneered. Alana ignored his jibe and continued.

"He likes you and he does not like many people. You're a magnet for serial killers, Frederick. I'm sure you know how to dial 911 if your paranoia gets away from you."

Chilton pursed his lips and drummed his fingers on his thigh.

"Did he tell you in therapy that _he_ likes me, or did _you_ tell him that he likes me?"

"Don't sound so bitter, Frederick. I don't run _my_ hospital with unethical methods. Watch your back." With that, Alana hung up.

Chilton shifted in his chair, uncomfortable and on edge for the remainder of the day.

It was great to still have an office, but sometimes he missed his old one. He didn't necessarily need the office anymore. He usually used it to answer phone calls from his publisher, or whatever. Its real purpose, however, was that it gave him a place to go, to spend his day out of his big, empty house.

He stayed at the office nearly four hours later than usual.

At the usual time, his secretary, Holly, had popped her head in to let him know she was leaving. He forced a smile and politely said goodnight, swallowing down the "be careful" he wanted to say. Holly was a naive sweetheart who was too good for him. He thought about fucking her in his office chair too often and he never thanked her when she brought him coffee. He was certain she had a crush on him, but he kept telling himself that he wasn't ready for that kind of relationship. If it was just fucking, that would be swell... but she deserved better and he didn't deserve any of it.

After a while in the dark office, most of the time just sitting there, wondering where John Doe was or what he might be planning, Chilton decided to call it quits and just go home already.

It wasn't until Chilton was in the parking garage when the paranoia Alana teased him about earlier set in. He fumbled with his car keys, glancing around himself every few seconds. When he got the door open, he all but flew in and slammed the door. His heart pounded in his chest as he looked into the rearview mirror. He craned his neck to look into the backseat. Nothing.

"Fine. You're alone and you're fine," he mumbled to himself before starting the car up.

Chilton still was still anxious by the time he was pulling into the driveway of his house. He practically ran up the path to the front door. He cursed under his breath as his house keys shook in his hands. Finding the right one, he slammed it into the lock with a soft whimper. The door flung open and he rushed inside. He quickly shut it behind himself and set in the home security.

He slumped back against the door and slid to the floor, sucking in oxygen, relieved to finally be home and safe. Abel Gideon is long gone. Hannibal Lecter is behind bars. Frederick Chilton is safe and home.

Finally relaxed, Chilton removed his coat, kicked off his expensive shoes, and loosened his tie. A list ran through his head of how he should spend the rest of his night. Leftover takeout and porn sounded good... and wine. Lots of wine. It had been a while since Chilton had gotten himself good and drunk. He sauntered into the kitchen to get himself started.

Why was it always the kitchen?

"Welcome home, Frederick."

When afraid, the most common responses are fight or flight. In the past, Chilton would generally go for the latter. But not now. Now Chilton couldn't run, couldn't move. His instincts screamed at him to get out. Instead, he stood there frozen to the spot.

John Doe casually leaned against the counter, where two glasses of wine stood. John picked up the glass closest to him and took a sip.

"I was beginning to wonder if you were even coming home tonight," he said. John gestured to the other glass of wine. "Care for some?"

"N-No thank you," Chilton heard himself stutter.

"I think you should. Have a little wine, some breaking of bread, as it were. And we can talk. You enjoy our little talks. You're interested in what I have to say about my work."

"Are you still doing your work?" said Chilton, hoping that if he kept John talking he might just be able to get out of this alive.

John didn't answer. Instead, he stared blankly at Chilton for a moment. Chilton shifted his weight from one foot to the other, uncomfortable under the heavy gaze. John stood up straight and set his glass aside. Once again Chilton started screaming at himself to run, but then John was merely inches away from him and Chilton knew if he tried he wouldn't get very far.

"You're afraid," said John.

"Yes."

"You don't need to be afraid. Not of me." John reached for Chilton's tie and began to loosen it until it was undone. Chilton swallowed thickly as John let the cloth fall to the floor. He didn't stop John from unbuttoning his jacket.

"Wha... what are you doing?" Chilton's voice trembled, his jacket joining the tie on the kitchen floor. John leaned in and started pressing kisses to his neck. Chilton gasped, but made no effort to stop him.

Really, he must get a better security system. It's getting ridiculous how often this keeps happening.

John pulled back and looked straight into Chilton's left eye.

"Take it out."

Chilton gaped for a moment, but quickly bent down to pick up his jacket. He shuffled through the cloth until he reached the inner breast pocket and pulled out his contact case. He wasn't going to argue. What choice did he have? With the contact safe inside, he placed the case on the island counter. Slowly he turned to face John.

John reached out and held the left side of Chilton's face. He wasn't rough, but the tips of his fingers continuously brushed against Chilton's ear, making him shudder. John examined Chilton's blind eye, stroking his thumb over the gnarled flesh of his cheek still covered in makeup.

"Your atonement for getting into bed with Hannibal Lecter," he said.

"I _survived_ Hannibal Lecter," Chilton spat. John cocked his head ever so slightly.

"But you do have evidence of atonement. I once overheard a couple of the orderlies talking about it. They also mentioned how much of a shit administrator you were, but I'm not interested in that." John raised his free hand and popped the first button of Chilton's shirt. "Show me."

"But..."

"I want you to show me." The tips of John's fingers made strange soothing circles behind Chilton's ear and through the ends of his hair. If Chilton wasn't in such a high-alert mode, he would melt like butter. He started unbuttoning the rest of his shirt. John kept his gaze fixed on Chilton's stomach, waiting.

Chilton tugged the remaining shirt from his pants, unbuttoned it, then reached for the edges of the tee beneath it.

"Show me," John breathed. Chilton froze again. He didn't want to show him the scar created by Abel Gideon, he didn't want John Doe to see the result of one of the biggest mistakes of his life. He didn't want anybody to see it. _He_ didn't want to see it.

John finally released the side of Chilton's face so he could grab the button-down and tear it from his shoulders. Chilton only gaped as the cloth ripped and fell from his form. He was starting to feel exposed. He kept removing layers and yet John was standing there, still wearing a coat over his hospital jumpsuit.

"You have to do the rest, Frederick."

Chilton nodded vigorously, mobility at last coming back to his arms as he pulled the tee over his head and threw it aside. A blush crept onto his face at the feeling of eyes on him. John's hand ghosted over the scar, not quite touching him.

John asked him a question that Chilton didn't process. Something about what he learned from the experience of having his gut cut open. John's voice sounded hazy and far away as Chilton started thinking back to that moment he came home to find Gideon waiting for him...

A hand pressed up against the scar. Chilton yelped at the sudden contact and... oh god...

If his face wasn't red with embarrassment before, it certainly was now. He tightened his shoulders and brought his hands closer together, not that he could really hide it now.

John didn't seem at all surprised. He was possibly even amused by it, although he didn't show it. He ran his hand up Chilton's scar. Chilton shivered and leaned into the touch.

"Interesting," was all John said before moving his hand lower so he was cupping Chilton through his pants. Chilton whined, his hips bucking up. "So sensitive. Tell me, did Hannibal Lecter ever fuck you? Did he find you amusing sexually?"

Chilton was now leaning back against the counter, hands gripping the edge. John slowly stroked him through the fabric.

"I... I..."

"We've had a few conversations, but they were mostly about me. It's selfish. Why don't we talk about you, Frederick. Tell me, what do you hunger for?"

"I... I want to _live_ ," a tear rolled down Chilton's cheek as he rasped out those last words. John dropped his hand.

"Live? With what? Live with the fame? Or maybe live with pretty little Holly?"

Chilton raised his head.

"What?"

John sighed and reached up to unzip his coat, quickly taking it off and throwing it to the side. Chilton's jaw dropped at the amount of red that covered the front of John's once-grey jumpsuit.

"It's Holly's blood, Frederick. I made a quick stop before coming here. She said you were staying late at the office."

Chilton's stomach churned at the thought of whatever fate was dealt to poor, innocent Holly.

"Take off your pants."

The words sent a strange jolt to Chilton's cock. This... there were no words for this... Chilton felt a little disgusted at himself for his arousal not remotely changing at the news of Holly's death. It wasn't right...

But it was never right, he told himself. Those late nights when he would lay awake and touch himself at the thought of what Abel and Hannibal did to him. Maybe it was him, maybe Chilton just wasn't right.

Chilton's hands didn't shake as he reached for his belt. His breathing got heavier as he let his pants and briefs drop. His legs shook slightly as he stepped out of his remaining clothes.

John opened one of the island drawers and took out a bottle of lube.

"I took the liberty of looking through your bedside table," he said, sounding so casual about it.

John didn't remove his own clothes. He kept the jumpsuit on, unzipping only what was needed to get his cock out. Chilton lay face-down on the kitchen floor. He bit his lip to keep from groaning as John prepared them.

Chilton propped his ass up on his knees to give John a better angle. To his surprise, John eased into him, allowing him to adjust. As soon as he was, John picked up the pace. His cock brushed up against Chilton's prostate every time. Chilton's moans echoed against the walls of his big, empty house.

John didn't touch him, only gripped onto Chilton's hips and slammed in.

A smile reached Chilton's face. He just couldn't care anymore about who he was fucking, all he knew was that it felt good and he wanted it.

John suddenly stopped and flipped Chilton onto his back. He draped himself over Chilton and started thrusting into him again. The blood on John's jumpsuit was still damp. With every thrust, it would rub onto Chilton's chest and belly.

With one hand John pinned Chilton's wrists above his head. Chilton didn't fight it, he liked being held down like this. With his other hand, John gripped Chilton's thigh and raised it so he could get a better angle.

Chilton's orgasm came sudden and hard. John brought the hand holding Chilton's wrists down so he could stroke Chilton's twitching cock right through it.

"Oh fuck-ahh!" Chilton arched his back then slumped. John kept fucking his sensitive body. Chilton whimpered at every brush of his prostate. John came, fully-sheathed in Chilton's ass, with a low groan.

Chilton lay there in silence for a long time. John didn't tell him to get up or get dressed. He turned his head at one point and saw why. John was leaving the bloodied jumpsuit behind and putting Chilton's clothes on. He was even wearing Chilton's favorite tie pin. Chilton didn't tell him to stop. For one of the few times in his life, Chilton didn't want to say a word. He hated this, hated himself... but he couldn't bring himself to care how much hate he had.

Before John left, he kneeled down, his lips brushing against Chilton's ear.

"Now you get to live with this too."

**Author's Note:**

> There might end up being more chapters to this. We'll see though.


End file.
